Look around and see it all,
feel the mud below your feet.
Think back to all their lies,
"It will be charming, fun, even neat."
Gripping you for years to come,
your friends bory in the street.
The dust and smoke fill our lungs,
leaving you gasping for air.
The enemy pacing back and forth,
giving everything a cold-hearted stare.
Anyone can be shot, at anytime,
and no one would even care.
Officers of much higher ranks,
the soldiers they will scorn.
The images of war,
will leave them lost and torn.
They are left letters and photos,
from their loves, about their newborn.
Days of death and killing,
it reigns in a young recruit.
That soldiers clothes and helmet,
are now his nicest suit.
This is all a memory now,
Just some stale mud left on a soldier's boot.
The Mud on a Boot
Look around and see it all,
feel the mud below your feet.
Think back to all their lies,
"It will be charming, fun, even neat."
Gripping you for years to come,
your friends bory in the street.
The dust and smoke fill our lungs,
leaving you gasping for air.
The enemy pacing back and forth,
giving everything a cold-hearted stare.
Anyone can be shot, at anytime,
and no one would even care.
Officers of much higher ranks,
the soldiers they will scorn.
The images of war,
will leave them lost and torn.
They are left letters and photos,
from their loves, about their newborn.
Days of death and killing,
it reigns in a young recruit.
That soldiers clothes and helmet,
are now his nicest suit.
This is all a memory now,
Just some stale mud left on a soldier's boot.
† Nick Wheaton